I haven’t washed my hair for a few days. It’s starting to show. I’m left with a few options. I could call Heather and ask if I can go to her house to shower, or I can just bring my shampoo into the Starbucks bathroom and wash my hair in the sink. I usually opt for the sink lately.
Heather would say that I wasn’t an imposition, but I knew better than that. I stay at her house when she and her husband, Josh, are out of town, under the pretence of watching their rats. For a little while there, they would ask me to stay on days they were home, too. I let it slip that my situation would, more than likely, be semi-permanent. I wore out my welcome, then. I’m okay with that. I actually find that I prefer sleeping in my car than on her couch. (Nothing against her couch, of course, but it sags in the middle and I never know where I am once I wake up.) My car has grown more comfortable since the winter. The other day I had myself convinced that I was in a real bed just before I opened my eyes.
On a related topic… I daydream a lot about beds and bedrooms these days. I find myself staring into space and trying to recall the exact feeling of slipping my legs under the crisp, cool covers on warm summer night and feeling the sheets glide over my bare calves. The feeling of lying on my stomach, with my head on the cool pillow and the comforter pulled up all around me. I miss the smell of the cool air, carrying a hint of the scent of the metal screen that would shield me from the crawlies of the night. I miss having blinds to mollify the rising of the early morning sun. I miss carpets and doorframes and squeaking box frames. I miss bed spread. I sometimes walk the aisles of Target, trying to imagine which fine home furnishings and decorative motifs I would go with if I had a house to put them in. I’d get my office furniture from Bernie, of course. One day…
I leave Starbucks at around 9:30pm on days when I’m not working. I use the restroom and change my clothes to be appropriate for the next day (jeans if I’ll be off, work clothes if I work in the morning) and head out to my car, which is usually parked on the third floor of the parking garage. This is my new favourite location. I park just where the overhang ends, facing Look Out Mountain. In a few steps I can be in the glorious summer sun, but my car can hide safely in the shade. There’s almost never anyone up there. I pretend that it’s my backyard. I walk around barefoot, and sing. I look out over the edge at the quaint town that I live in. Right across the way there is an apartment building. It’s a high end kind of place. I get to peek in some of the patios and windows and see the big-screen T.V.’s and stainless steel kitchens. Sometimes I get jealous, and I resent the people that live there. Most of the time I get sad. One night, after I closed, I moved the car out into the moonlight, to the spots that look out on Table Mountain. I watched the glow of the city from behind the landmark, and the stars as they came out. I listened to Lifehouse on repeat and tried as hard as I could to find God. All I found was music.
I would just stay in the parking garage at night, but for two reasons. Firstly, it’s too well lit. I couldn’t sleep well with all that light all the time. Secondly, there are police that patrol the structure, starting at around eleven each night. I’m not sure if they come back hourly, or if it’s a once a night kind of thing… but I have a feeling that I wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. It’s fine to leave your car over night, that I know for sure. John’s car broke down and has been in the garage for weeks with no problems (I’m starting to leave notes in the dust on the windshield every time I pass by). However, I have a feeling that a person staying in the car over night would be a different matter entirely. So, at night, I get to the car, toss in my stuff in the passenger seat, or in the trunk, depending on my organization for the week, and turn my attention to Lily and Violet for a minute. I make sure they still have food and water, that their bedding is dry and clean, and that they get sufficiently wired up and subsequently tuckered out before we head off to bed. They love running around on the back sill of the car, where I store my aprons, comic books, coffee mark-outs, and my brand new potted plant. It’s dying already, of course. I think Daisy had magical gardening powers. I do all of this while still in the parking garage because it’s well lit. I don’t like having to turn on the dome light while in my spot for the night. It makes me self-conscious, when I do, and draws attention to the car.
I pull out of the parking garage and drive the three blocks to Heather’s apartment complex. There are a few places near here where I like to park for the night. Just before the front doors, there’s a turn off with additional parking to the left of the building. I sometimes pull in here and turn off the lights. I coast into my spot next to the SUV that has been parked with the windows half down for years through rain, snow, and all sorts of abusive weather. I know that no one pays close attention to it, so it’s like a shield in a way. Ignore the SUV, ignore the little white car beside it. Either that, or I park in the very last spot on the left. It’s right next to the river, which is beautiful to listen to during the night. If I decide to park somewhere darker, I head up, past Heather’s building, and toward the park. There’s another row of parking spots, just to the right, that are unclaimed by the building and the park, and have absolutely no restrictions. I know it’s okay to leave vehicles here overnight because of the trailer that’s been parked there for a little while. I like waking up to the sounds of people enjoying the park behind me. No one bothers me. The only real downside to this spot is that, though it’s shaded by a huge tree, it still heats up quickly in the mornings. The spots by Heather’s apartment are right up against a big wall that, along with the mountains behind it, shades my car from the morning sun for a while. This morning I slept until nearly ten in the spot by the river. Near the park, I have to leave by around nine.
Once I’m in the spot of my choosing, I turn off the car, make sure the doors are locked and make my bed. I put the driver’s seat down all the way and slide it as far as I can away from the steering wheel to give me more leg/maneuvering room. I find my body pillow and jam it up between me and the passenger’s seat to guard me from the protruding emergency brake, gear shifter, and center console. I take off my shoes, and my socks as well, on warmer nights. I put my pillow under my head, and loosely drape my comforter over my torso, more for cover than for warmth at this point in the night. Sometimes I hang a sweater from the hook above the back seat and arrange it so it blocks out the parking lot’s bright lights. I find my phone and put it in my right pocket. I find my keys and hook them on my left belt loop. I curl into a ball facing right and listen to the rats scratching around. On colder nights over the remaining winter, I would have my sleeping bag around me, and at least one sweater on. I would cover my head and face with the sleeping bag and/or comforter. It would be warm there as long as I didn’t come uncovered in the night. As soon as Spring finally hit and it warmed up, I moved my sleeping bag and coat to my storage unit. No matter what I’m wrapped in, the windows get foggy by the morning after chilly nights. I don’t care much. As long as I can sleep through the night without drawing attention to myself, I’m fine. If I get woken up and questioned, I’ll say that I’m staying with Heather and that I got locked out and couldn’t get a hold of her. At which time I’ll call her, pretending to be exasperated, and she’ll let me in. After that I’ll go back to sleeping in Walmart parking lots.
In the morning I put the pillows and comforter back into the backseat, locate my toiletry bag and brush my hair and put on deodorant. I put the seat up and put on my shoes. Then I slide the seat forward and turn on the car. I drive the three blocks back to the parking garage by Starbucks, and head up to the third level. I gather what I may need for the first part of the morning, be it my toiletry bag, my computer bag, or a book or two. I check on the rats again, and make sure they’re bruxing the morning away, and then I head down the stairs to Starbucks to pee and to brush my teeth, sometimes to change if I didn’t do that the night before. These early morning rendezvous with my store are the only time that I feel ashamed. My co-workers see me come in and know where I came from. My regulars see me and offer greetings saying, “What, do you live here or something?” I avoid eye contact and pretend to be joking when I say yes. Once I come out of the bathroom, clean and more awake, I’m fine. From there I either work, read, go on the computer, or, rarely, go back to sleep. If I’m opening I have to wait an additional few minutes until the shift gets the keys to unlock the bathrooms. Those are usually the longest minutes of my day and I inevitably start actually working a few minutes late because I don’t want to work with morning breath. Most of the people that I work with know that I live in my car. It’s hard to keep that a secret around here. I’m unclear as to whether or not my manager knows. I don’t care about that much either, though. Whether or not he knows, I’m a good worker and am always available. It’s hard to complain about an employee like that.
A few of the people I work with offered to let me stay with them or their friends when I first got here, saying they just have to check with their roommates or something like that. No one has really gotten back to me about it, and, to be honest, I don’t really want them to. I’m a jumble of mixed feelings about it… but I don’t have any money for rent at the moment, and I’d hate to mooch off anyone. I feel bad enough taking showers and doing laundry at Heather’s apartment, although she says that they don’t pay for water. I feel like a bum. I’d rather wash my hair in the sink and find a Laundromat. But I can’t say no when Heather asks me because she’s genuine and she doesn’t want to hear that I feel like I’m imposing. “It’s not imposing if I INVITE you” she has said, multiple times. It doesn’t change how I feel about it, though.
In a couple of month I may have a paycheck that doesn’t necessarily have to disappear the moment I get it. If, by then, I’m sick and tired of roughing it, I’ll look into finding a place. Until then, I’ll continue to live by these means. It’s the only way I can feel legitimate. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the generosity, it’s just that I don’t feel I’m worthy of charity. I chose to be where I am. I made an active decision. I said to myself, when I get to Colorado, I’ll live in my car until I have the money for an apartment. In all honesty, it’s not that bad. I get lonely sometimes, but I get lonely with an apartment, too.
I’m glad I got a new friend for Lily. I feel like I worry about her less now that she has a companion. They can snuggle at night and keep warm, play all day while I’m working (or vice versa), and generally just keep each other company while I’m not around. Now that I have Violet, I have half as much to worry about and the living-in-my-car situation is much more bearable.
Today, I was walking from the parking garage to Starbucks to do my morning business. A man, who I guess has seen me around Starbucks before exclaimed in a joking manner, “Don’t you ever go home??” I turned to him and said in a perfectly serious tone, “No.” and turned back around. I think it threw him off a little.
On a side note: I don’t think many people in the world realize just how amazing the taste of fresh Granny Smith apples is. The way the juice explodes from its cocoon just below the tart skin… it’s really breathtaking. I’m a big fan.
The days are getting shorter again. Next time I’ll tell you about the solstice. For now, the hour is late and Adelaide is calling. Within her, I’m sure Lily and Violet are waking up, ready to seize the twilight. The world is our burrito. : )
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Karma and Coincidence
It’s warm and wonderful here. Outside, flakes of white swirl in the summer breeze. They’re cotton, says Heather, from fields nearby, and they can get as thick as a blizzard on windy days. They remind me of snowflakes from a gentle winter storm, and flutter aimlessly as they search for their place to land. They coat the ground in corners and along the curbs in this little town. The grass at the park is speckled with them. In the evening, when the summer bugs emerge, the setting sun reflects off of the buzzing air like the dust kicked off a weary sofa in the living rooms where I grew up.
It’s hotter in the sun than I’m used to. In Florida, I hardly felt the sun. Instead, I felt the oppressive wetness of the air and the coating, stifling heat of mere existence. Here, the sun is present and sharp. You crisp beneath it quickly, and shiver in the shadows that you pass through, as though the heat has clear boundaries and refuses to be possessed in darker places. It’s cold inside Starbucks, too. We never touch the thermostat except in desperate situations, and it remains set for the hottest summer days. If you’re working, the chill is pleasant, as you can become overheated easily with all of the machines pumping out warm air. If you’re lounging in the café, as I often do, it becomes necessary to wear a sweater. My feet long for socks, and in the evening I often contemplate getting the blanket from the trunk of my car.
I went, today, while reading one of the many books that I gather from the local library, to sit on the rock wall just outside the store. I found a patch of sunlight and curled within it. Immediately I was warm and could feel that I might burn if I stayed for the duration of the novel. The patch of sunlight grew larger as the morning wore on, and soon I was entirely immersed in light. I would look up from the bright pages and find the rest of the world dimmed in comparison to the gleaming light at which, up until then, I had been staring. As I felt my neck become just too warm, I picked up my purse and moved to the shade where I stayed comfortable under the blanket of an unusually warm breeze. I thought to myself about how warm the rest of the day inevitably would be, with a breeze like that. Here in the mountains, the air speaks of what the future holds. You can smell the rain as it approaches, and all of the weather must climb over the mountains before it reaches our little valley, therefore providing us with visual notice of its impending arrival.
The nights are growing warmer now. It’s a blessing and a curse. Hopefully it will stay cool enough that I can sleep in some mornings. In the chilly nights I stay warm enough, except for the tip of my nose. If I cover my head with the blanket, my nose warms nicely, but so does the air that I inhale. I’m never comfortable when I have to breathe warm air. I’m not sure how I ever really survived the Florida summers. So, what eventually happens is, once my nose is warm, I uncover my face and breathe deeply the frosty night air. This inevitably leads to a cold nose. I end up spending the whole night covering and uncovering my face and never really getting any rest. When the nights are warm, I’m comfortable. I sleep peacefully, as I did last night. In the morning, however, usually at first light, warm nights turn to hot days and the sunlight beats down, warming my bed to those deadly temperatures we read about- associated with supermarket parking lots and small children or pets. I don’t mind waking with the sun, really. But if I’m to have any semblance of a social life here (which may or may not happen), it would be nice to be able to go to bed long after sundown with the promise of sleeping in to look forward to. Luckily, the parking structure right next to my store stays cool and quiet, and keeps my rats safe and comfortable. It also provides nice napping grounds for hot afternoons, or lazy days off.
I’m not writing today to talk about my sleeping habits, though. Today I’d like to talk about Karma and Coincidence.
While on my latest excursion, a two thousand mile round-trip road trip to my beloved San Diego, I met Dawn Mitschele. She is one of the beautiful and wonderful women who performs with Billy on various songs including ‘Mayhem is Beautiful,’ and his new single ‘Grace of Love’ from his new album, ‘The Man Who Invented the Sky,’ in which she sings the haunting chorus of “They are us/ We are them/ Love is ours/ In the End.”
I met her though Johnny at Twiggs, the coffee shop that I frequent whenever I’m in town. She and Johnny were going over some songs that she was going to perform at her friend’s wedding. When they were through, Johnny pulled up the chair beside me to play chess all afternoon with his friend Jim, like they do nearly every day at the close-knit corner coffee shop. We struck up a conversation about music and he asked why I was in town. I confessed I had driven in for the concert the following evening and he asked who I was here to see. When I mentioned Bushwalla (a name I’m used to no one recognizing), he was stunned. Bushwalla? He asked. You drove all the way here for Billy? He told me that the girl he was just practicing was Dawn from the song off the last album, ‘Mayhem is Beautiful.’ He told me he was in it as well, playing the background music. *I realized just now that his business card was in my purse, and I had intended to get in touch with him to do carvings for his impending wedding. My heart has broken all over again* Dawn came back to the shop, having forgotten something, and Johnny introduced us. I was beside myself at the chance to meet the two of them. That song is one of my favorites. Dawn is happy and sweet, and seemed excited to hear of my travels. When we parted ways I felt that I was in exactly the place I should be, doing exactly what I should be doing. Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m taking the right path in my life, but I took it as a sign that everything was the way it was meant to be.
Over the next couple of days, I ran in to Dawn often, and each time was more pleasant than the last. The time that gives rise to this blog, however, was the day of the show, while I was sitting outside of the venue. I had spent the morning at Twiggs, the early afternoon at the beach, and lunch at a tiny half-hidden café right by the ocean which sold only natural foods. I felt fresh and calm, and ready for a day of relaxation and anticipation. Dawn emerged from the theatre after sound check and was only slightly surprised to find me there. She mentioned later that night that I had become a staple in her daily life for the last two days. We chatted a bit about the day before and the day to come. She didn’t seem to understand why I would like nothing better than to spend the entire day outside the venue when I could be exploring. I tried to explain that it was part of the experience that I love so much. I like to be there long enough to become part of the scenery. I watch the people that walk by, oblivious to me and my adventure, and imagine their daily lives. I listen to the sound check inside and become almost unbearably excited for the show to come. I never get bored, instead, I revel in each moment that I sit with anticipation, knowing that after the show, I’d give almost anything to be outside waiting for it to start all over again. I mentioned that I had finished the book that I had brought to occupy myself, and she insisted on lending me the one she keeps at the bottom of her purse, water stained and read on whims. I don’t remember what it was called, but I remember what I read. There were chapters called ‘Heart,’ ‘Relationships,’ and, most importantly, ‘Karma.’
I read it in passing. I didn’t really focus on it as I was trying to absorb all of the rest of the world. The chapter on Karma I found particularly interesting, however, and read from start to finish. I’m not a very spiritual person. I don’t have a religion. I don’t believe in a creator. I do believe, however, in the goodness of people, and I hold faith that everything in the world will right itself in the end, purely on the power of will and the variance of perception. If you can make the best of a bad situation, then you will live a happy life and everything will be alright in the end. What I believe is similar to the principles of Karma discussed in the book. The book takes it a step further that I do and takes into account reincarnation and the everlasting soul. It says that if you commit a transgression or wrong in your life, a parallel act will be committed toward you, to balance the Karma. It explains bad things happening to good people as transgressions those good people committed during a past life and have no memory of. It says that everything is balanced in this way. It also says that, if something happens to you, someone does something to hurt you, for example, and you get angry at them and wish them harm or punishment, really you’re just receiving what you deserve for a past incident (in this life or another) and by becoming angry and emitting negative will, you are just creating more bad Karma. The way to get around this, it says, is to try to understand what happened and why, and to forgive and love the person who hurt you. Only in this way, says the book, can the cycle be broken and balance be restored.
Now, as I already mentioned, I don’t exactly believe this; however, I do understand the principle behind it. It is the same message that Buddha, Jesus, and all those hippies were preaching: love, forgiveness, and peace. It was nice for me, sitting there in a peaceful environment, with all of my adventures past, and the exciting new adventures to come, to reaffirm my faith in goodness. I often think to myself, would a truly good person wish bad things on someone else. No. And, seeing as I would like to be as good of a person as I can, I can’t either. This counts toward everyone, including people who may hurt me in some way.
To clarify, this doesn’t mean that I don’t believe in punishment. I believe that if you hurt someone, you should be punished accordingly. If you do something wrong, you should be brought to justice. But I don’t see justice as ‘bad’ so I’m not contradicting myself. If a man robs a bank, for example, I think he should be imprisoned and fined accordingly. This is just. The people who were in the bank, who were taken advantage of and wronged, should seek that the thief should be caught and punished. Then, they should try to understand how insecure and desperate that person must have been. They should understand that now the transgressor is serving the punishment, and then try to forgive and love him. By love him, I don’t mean they should send gifts to the prison and welcome him back with open arms once his time is served. That’s ridiculous and foolish. I mean love him as if it had been a longtime friend who committed the crime. They should keep themselves distanced, don’t trust him or support his crime, but wish him relief from his insecurities or difficult lifestyle, wish him happier times and security, wish that he turns his life around and lives comfortably and without crime in the future. It may not actually help the criminal, but the victims will heal faster, and will know that they acted well: maturely and compassionately. By hating or wishing the criminal harm, all the victims are doing is hurting themselves and not letting themselves get over what happened. It’s in the past and all people can really do is forgive, love, and try to live their lives the best way they can.
Since my first trip to San Diego back in 2007, which feels like a lifetime ago, I have tried to live positively. I’m an optimistic person now, and I feel like I live the way I’ve always wanted to. I’m happy. When I got back to Denver after the 18 hour drive home, I was buzzing with excitement. The show had been fantastic. I took advantage of every opportunity that was presented to me (including hula-hooping for the first time since grade-school) and I made incredible new friends. I pranced around my Starbucks showing everyone the pictures of my new friends, my new adventures, and the men I had recently fallen in love with (there were a few… but then, there are always a few.) One of our regulars, Bernie, a nice and ever-smiling man with bright blue eyes that twinkle with joy, saw the photos and asked if I’d put them on the computer yet. You don’t want to lose all those memories, he said. I reassured him that I’d get them onto the computer and my Facebook within the next few days and that I would never want anything to happen to them. I put up a post on Facebook that night: I am so thankful for everything I have and everyone I know. You all give me so much... ♥ ♥ ♥ I love my life!
I always try to appreciate everything I have. I never want to look back and think that I took anything for granted. I’m able to look back now and say that I took nothing that was lost for granted, and I’m proud of that. What a coincidence, though, that just a day later, I would have the chance to prove all of these words and new ideas of thankfulness, forgiveness, and love.
The next morning was Monday and I had a shift at work. While I was there, one of my coworkers asked if I could cover part of their shift that night. Of course I agreed. I never pass up hours. The shift was from 5:30p-6:30p… only an hour of work. After my morning shift I took a nap in my car, then went back inside to work for an hour. I came back after my shift and my purse was gone. Someone had reached in through the cracked window, unlocked the doors, and taken my bag. At first I didn’t believe it. I went back inside to check the store, thinking that I may have taken it in with me and just not remembered. No. I went back to the car, checked everywhere… it was gone. I went back to the store, to the back room, and started to cry. My wallet was in there. My green card was in there. My money was in there. Then, oh no! My CAMERA was in there! My iPod was in there! My music and my pictures! They took my music and my pictures! Of all the things they could have taken, they HAD to take my music and my pictures. I was devastated. I felt used and violated, I felt empty, I felt alone…
I did everything that I was supposed to do. I cancelled my credit cards and debit cards, went to the police station and filed a report, contacted immigration to get a new green card, etc. I eventually wrote down a list of everything that was in the purse for the insurance company and it totaled nearly $1500 in value. Seeing that number made my stomach churn. If I had realized that I had so much value invested in that purse, there is no way I would have let it out of my sight for a minute, let alone an hour (an hour in which, might I add, I earned $9 at work). For a few days at work I was depressed and angry. I cried once to Heather, I’ve been homeless for two months. Two whole months! I said. And I’m further indebted to my parents and worse off than when I first got here! I felt so lost, for those few days; I didn’t feel like I’d ever be happy again.
But I stayed strong. Instead of falling into my former patterns of depression and self-pity, I fell back on my new-found optimism. The lyrics to the song ‘Better’ by Jason Mraz rang in my head and helped to calm my depression. The chapter from that book that Dawn lent to me the week before rang in my head and helped to calm my anger. I thought to myself, ‘It always gets better, I know it gets better. Now what I have to do is try to understand why that person took my purse. I have to forgive them. I have to try to love them.’ It was hard until I remembered that I’ve shoplifted before. When I was finishing High School and I was friends with Amanda, I was deep in depression and felt I had no worth. I hated myself and wanted to feel accepted any way I could. I did a lot that I’m not proud of, though I wouldn’t be who I am today without my past. A few times, while out together, Amanda and I would steal things: small things usually, rings, jewelry, key chains. Usually they were presents for one another or for friends. When I stopped hanging out with Amanda, right around the time when I found Jason Mraz and started to discover my own worth, I stopped doing things like that. So I used that to try to figure this situation out. I stole because it helped me to fit in, because I felt cool and accepted. I felt like I wouldn’t be those things without it. I can’t imagine how badly this person must feel about themselves to steal something so valuable right out of my car. Whether they did it to impress someone, or even for the money, they must be in a desperate and seemingly hopeless situation. Even if they seem happy, I’m sure they have no self-respect and that makes me sad for them. I still hope that they’re caught and they are judged for what they did, but I also hope that they find a better way of looking for themselves than theft. I hope that one day, they can be happy with who they are and what they have. I’m trying to love them, and send out my good thoughts for them and their future.
I’m thankful for my parents, who are always there to help me back onto my feet, and who I will repay with more than just money, in time.
I’m thankful for Heather, who was a wonderful shoulder to cry on. She’s a true friend.
I’m thankful for the safety of my rats, Lily and Violet. They were in the car when it was broken into and a more sadistic criminal may have taken advantage of their vulnerability.
I’m thankful for my phone and my laptop. My phone and charger, which normally would have been in my purse, were safely in my possession during all of this. My laptop was in the trunk of my car, a place where the thief, thankfully, didn’t look.
I’m thankful to Officer Mehnert for being so sympathetic and kind during our encounter.
I’m thankful that my possessions were covered under my parents’ homeowners insurance and I can use the money we’ll get to pay them back for all of their kindness.
I’m thankful for my health, my car (which was undamaged), and my AUX cable, which they didn’t take and which allows me to use my phone as an MP3 player in my car in lieu of my iPod
All of this I’m thankful for, and more… so much more.
I am so thankful for everything I have and everyone I know. You all give me so much... ♥ ♥ ♥ I love my life!
It’s hotter in the sun than I’m used to. In Florida, I hardly felt the sun. Instead, I felt the oppressive wetness of the air and the coating, stifling heat of mere existence. Here, the sun is present and sharp. You crisp beneath it quickly, and shiver in the shadows that you pass through, as though the heat has clear boundaries and refuses to be possessed in darker places. It’s cold inside Starbucks, too. We never touch the thermostat except in desperate situations, and it remains set for the hottest summer days. If you’re working, the chill is pleasant, as you can become overheated easily with all of the machines pumping out warm air. If you’re lounging in the café, as I often do, it becomes necessary to wear a sweater. My feet long for socks, and in the evening I often contemplate getting the blanket from the trunk of my car.
I went, today, while reading one of the many books that I gather from the local library, to sit on the rock wall just outside the store. I found a patch of sunlight and curled within it. Immediately I was warm and could feel that I might burn if I stayed for the duration of the novel. The patch of sunlight grew larger as the morning wore on, and soon I was entirely immersed in light. I would look up from the bright pages and find the rest of the world dimmed in comparison to the gleaming light at which, up until then, I had been staring. As I felt my neck become just too warm, I picked up my purse and moved to the shade where I stayed comfortable under the blanket of an unusually warm breeze. I thought to myself about how warm the rest of the day inevitably would be, with a breeze like that. Here in the mountains, the air speaks of what the future holds. You can smell the rain as it approaches, and all of the weather must climb over the mountains before it reaches our little valley, therefore providing us with visual notice of its impending arrival.
The nights are growing warmer now. It’s a blessing and a curse. Hopefully it will stay cool enough that I can sleep in some mornings. In the chilly nights I stay warm enough, except for the tip of my nose. If I cover my head with the blanket, my nose warms nicely, but so does the air that I inhale. I’m never comfortable when I have to breathe warm air. I’m not sure how I ever really survived the Florida summers. So, what eventually happens is, once my nose is warm, I uncover my face and breathe deeply the frosty night air. This inevitably leads to a cold nose. I end up spending the whole night covering and uncovering my face and never really getting any rest. When the nights are warm, I’m comfortable. I sleep peacefully, as I did last night. In the morning, however, usually at first light, warm nights turn to hot days and the sunlight beats down, warming my bed to those deadly temperatures we read about- associated with supermarket parking lots and small children or pets. I don’t mind waking with the sun, really. But if I’m to have any semblance of a social life here (which may or may not happen), it would be nice to be able to go to bed long after sundown with the promise of sleeping in to look forward to. Luckily, the parking structure right next to my store stays cool and quiet, and keeps my rats safe and comfortable. It also provides nice napping grounds for hot afternoons, or lazy days off.
I’m not writing today to talk about my sleeping habits, though. Today I’d like to talk about Karma and Coincidence.
While on my latest excursion, a two thousand mile round-trip road trip to my beloved San Diego, I met Dawn Mitschele. She is one of the beautiful and wonderful women who performs with Billy on various songs including ‘Mayhem is Beautiful,’ and his new single ‘Grace of Love’ from his new album, ‘The Man Who Invented the Sky,’ in which she sings the haunting chorus of “They are us/ We are them/ Love is ours/ In the End.”
I met her though Johnny at Twiggs, the coffee shop that I frequent whenever I’m in town. She and Johnny were going over some songs that she was going to perform at her friend’s wedding. When they were through, Johnny pulled up the chair beside me to play chess all afternoon with his friend Jim, like they do nearly every day at the close-knit corner coffee shop. We struck up a conversation about music and he asked why I was in town. I confessed I had driven in for the concert the following evening and he asked who I was here to see. When I mentioned Bushwalla (a name I’m used to no one recognizing), he was stunned. Bushwalla? He asked. You drove all the way here for Billy? He told me that the girl he was just practicing was Dawn from the song off the last album, ‘Mayhem is Beautiful.’ He told me he was in it as well, playing the background music. *I realized just now that his business card was in my purse, and I had intended to get in touch with him to do carvings for his impending wedding. My heart has broken all over again* Dawn came back to the shop, having forgotten something, and Johnny introduced us. I was beside myself at the chance to meet the two of them. That song is one of my favorites. Dawn is happy and sweet, and seemed excited to hear of my travels. When we parted ways I felt that I was in exactly the place I should be, doing exactly what I should be doing. Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m taking the right path in my life, but I took it as a sign that everything was the way it was meant to be.
Over the next couple of days, I ran in to Dawn often, and each time was more pleasant than the last. The time that gives rise to this blog, however, was the day of the show, while I was sitting outside of the venue. I had spent the morning at Twiggs, the early afternoon at the beach, and lunch at a tiny half-hidden café right by the ocean which sold only natural foods. I felt fresh and calm, and ready for a day of relaxation and anticipation. Dawn emerged from the theatre after sound check and was only slightly surprised to find me there. She mentioned later that night that I had become a staple in her daily life for the last two days. We chatted a bit about the day before and the day to come. She didn’t seem to understand why I would like nothing better than to spend the entire day outside the venue when I could be exploring. I tried to explain that it was part of the experience that I love so much. I like to be there long enough to become part of the scenery. I watch the people that walk by, oblivious to me and my adventure, and imagine their daily lives. I listen to the sound check inside and become almost unbearably excited for the show to come. I never get bored, instead, I revel in each moment that I sit with anticipation, knowing that after the show, I’d give almost anything to be outside waiting for it to start all over again. I mentioned that I had finished the book that I had brought to occupy myself, and she insisted on lending me the one she keeps at the bottom of her purse, water stained and read on whims. I don’t remember what it was called, but I remember what I read. There were chapters called ‘Heart,’ ‘Relationships,’ and, most importantly, ‘Karma.’
I read it in passing. I didn’t really focus on it as I was trying to absorb all of the rest of the world. The chapter on Karma I found particularly interesting, however, and read from start to finish. I’m not a very spiritual person. I don’t have a religion. I don’t believe in a creator. I do believe, however, in the goodness of people, and I hold faith that everything in the world will right itself in the end, purely on the power of will and the variance of perception. If you can make the best of a bad situation, then you will live a happy life and everything will be alright in the end. What I believe is similar to the principles of Karma discussed in the book. The book takes it a step further that I do and takes into account reincarnation and the everlasting soul. It says that if you commit a transgression or wrong in your life, a parallel act will be committed toward you, to balance the Karma. It explains bad things happening to good people as transgressions those good people committed during a past life and have no memory of. It says that everything is balanced in this way. It also says that, if something happens to you, someone does something to hurt you, for example, and you get angry at them and wish them harm or punishment, really you’re just receiving what you deserve for a past incident (in this life or another) and by becoming angry and emitting negative will, you are just creating more bad Karma. The way to get around this, it says, is to try to understand what happened and why, and to forgive and love the person who hurt you. Only in this way, says the book, can the cycle be broken and balance be restored.
Now, as I already mentioned, I don’t exactly believe this; however, I do understand the principle behind it. It is the same message that Buddha, Jesus, and all those hippies were preaching: love, forgiveness, and peace. It was nice for me, sitting there in a peaceful environment, with all of my adventures past, and the exciting new adventures to come, to reaffirm my faith in goodness. I often think to myself, would a truly good person wish bad things on someone else. No. And, seeing as I would like to be as good of a person as I can, I can’t either. This counts toward everyone, including people who may hurt me in some way.
To clarify, this doesn’t mean that I don’t believe in punishment. I believe that if you hurt someone, you should be punished accordingly. If you do something wrong, you should be brought to justice. But I don’t see justice as ‘bad’ so I’m not contradicting myself. If a man robs a bank, for example, I think he should be imprisoned and fined accordingly. This is just. The people who were in the bank, who were taken advantage of and wronged, should seek that the thief should be caught and punished. Then, they should try to understand how insecure and desperate that person must have been. They should understand that now the transgressor is serving the punishment, and then try to forgive and love him. By love him, I don’t mean they should send gifts to the prison and welcome him back with open arms once his time is served. That’s ridiculous and foolish. I mean love him as if it had been a longtime friend who committed the crime. They should keep themselves distanced, don’t trust him or support his crime, but wish him relief from his insecurities or difficult lifestyle, wish him happier times and security, wish that he turns his life around and lives comfortably and without crime in the future. It may not actually help the criminal, but the victims will heal faster, and will know that they acted well: maturely and compassionately. By hating or wishing the criminal harm, all the victims are doing is hurting themselves and not letting themselves get over what happened. It’s in the past and all people can really do is forgive, love, and try to live their lives the best way they can.
Since my first trip to San Diego back in 2007, which feels like a lifetime ago, I have tried to live positively. I’m an optimistic person now, and I feel like I live the way I’ve always wanted to. I’m happy. When I got back to Denver after the 18 hour drive home, I was buzzing with excitement. The show had been fantastic. I took advantage of every opportunity that was presented to me (including hula-hooping for the first time since grade-school) and I made incredible new friends. I pranced around my Starbucks showing everyone the pictures of my new friends, my new adventures, and the men I had recently fallen in love with (there were a few… but then, there are always a few.) One of our regulars, Bernie, a nice and ever-smiling man with bright blue eyes that twinkle with joy, saw the photos and asked if I’d put them on the computer yet. You don’t want to lose all those memories, he said. I reassured him that I’d get them onto the computer and my Facebook within the next few days and that I would never want anything to happen to them. I put up a post on Facebook that night: I am so thankful for everything I have and everyone I know. You all give me so much... ♥ ♥ ♥ I love my life!
I always try to appreciate everything I have. I never want to look back and think that I took anything for granted. I’m able to look back now and say that I took nothing that was lost for granted, and I’m proud of that. What a coincidence, though, that just a day later, I would have the chance to prove all of these words and new ideas of thankfulness, forgiveness, and love.
The next morning was Monday and I had a shift at work. While I was there, one of my coworkers asked if I could cover part of their shift that night. Of course I agreed. I never pass up hours. The shift was from 5:30p-6:30p… only an hour of work. After my morning shift I took a nap in my car, then went back inside to work for an hour. I came back after my shift and my purse was gone. Someone had reached in through the cracked window, unlocked the doors, and taken my bag. At first I didn’t believe it. I went back inside to check the store, thinking that I may have taken it in with me and just not remembered. No. I went back to the car, checked everywhere… it was gone. I went back to the store, to the back room, and started to cry. My wallet was in there. My green card was in there. My money was in there. Then, oh no! My CAMERA was in there! My iPod was in there! My music and my pictures! They took my music and my pictures! Of all the things they could have taken, they HAD to take my music and my pictures. I was devastated. I felt used and violated, I felt empty, I felt alone…
I did everything that I was supposed to do. I cancelled my credit cards and debit cards, went to the police station and filed a report, contacted immigration to get a new green card, etc. I eventually wrote down a list of everything that was in the purse for the insurance company and it totaled nearly $1500 in value. Seeing that number made my stomach churn. If I had realized that I had so much value invested in that purse, there is no way I would have let it out of my sight for a minute, let alone an hour (an hour in which, might I add, I earned $9 at work). For a few days at work I was depressed and angry. I cried once to Heather, I’ve been homeless for two months. Two whole months! I said. And I’m further indebted to my parents and worse off than when I first got here! I felt so lost, for those few days; I didn’t feel like I’d ever be happy again.
But I stayed strong. Instead of falling into my former patterns of depression and self-pity, I fell back on my new-found optimism. The lyrics to the song ‘Better’ by Jason Mraz rang in my head and helped to calm my depression. The chapter from that book that Dawn lent to me the week before rang in my head and helped to calm my anger. I thought to myself, ‘It always gets better, I know it gets better. Now what I have to do is try to understand why that person took my purse. I have to forgive them. I have to try to love them.’ It was hard until I remembered that I’ve shoplifted before. When I was finishing High School and I was friends with Amanda, I was deep in depression and felt I had no worth. I hated myself and wanted to feel accepted any way I could. I did a lot that I’m not proud of, though I wouldn’t be who I am today without my past. A few times, while out together, Amanda and I would steal things: small things usually, rings, jewelry, key chains. Usually they were presents for one another or for friends. When I stopped hanging out with Amanda, right around the time when I found Jason Mraz and started to discover my own worth, I stopped doing things like that. So I used that to try to figure this situation out. I stole because it helped me to fit in, because I felt cool and accepted. I felt like I wouldn’t be those things without it. I can’t imagine how badly this person must feel about themselves to steal something so valuable right out of my car. Whether they did it to impress someone, or even for the money, they must be in a desperate and seemingly hopeless situation. Even if they seem happy, I’m sure they have no self-respect and that makes me sad for them. I still hope that they’re caught and they are judged for what they did, but I also hope that they find a better way of looking for themselves than theft. I hope that one day, they can be happy with who they are and what they have. I’m trying to love them, and send out my good thoughts for them and their future.
I’m thankful for my parents, who are always there to help me back onto my feet, and who I will repay with more than just money, in time.
I’m thankful for Heather, who was a wonderful shoulder to cry on. She’s a true friend.
I’m thankful for the safety of my rats, Lily and Violet. They were in the car when it was broken into and a more sadistic criminal may have taken advantage of their vulnerability.
I’m thankful for my phone and my laptop. My phone and charger, which normally would have been in my purse, were safely in my possession during all of this. My laptop was in the trunk of my car, a place where the thief, thankfully, didn’t look.
I’m thankful to Officer Mehnert for being so sympathetic and kind during our encounter.
I’m thankful that my possessions were covered under my parents’ homeowners insurance and I can use the money we’ll get to pay them back for all of their kindness.
I’m thankful for my health, my car (which was undamaged), and my AUX cable, which they didn’t take and which allows me to use my phone as an MP3 player in my car in lieu of my iPod
All of this I’m thankful for, and more… so much more.
I am so thankful for everything I have and everyone I know. You all give me so much... ♥ ♥ ♥ I love my life!
Friday, May 28, 2010
...Maybe I DO Know What I'm Looking For...
I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I hold faith that I’ll find it. All I want is music, really. I want to own it like so many others seem to. Some people are born with a talent for it, others have to struggle at every turn. I wish it came as naturally to me as breathing, as sculpting. It hovers just out of my grasp. So, since I can’t reach it, I search for something bigger. Better. I want it all, I think to myself. I want everything. I want to be good at everything, to be rich, to be talented beyond belief. I want people to flock to me, and to love me unconditionally. No. I don’t really. It’s too simple that way. It’s a lazy excuse to be melancholy. What I really want is to feel that I belong. That is the most I could hope to achieve with any of it. After all, even if I had everything in the world, if I didn’t feel like I was meant to be there and meant to have it, I’d be no better off than I am now. So I want to have a home to rest my head. I’m tired of feeling out of place with the world. It has been such a long time since I could rest, really rest, and I’m weary. I keep moving on, trying to find that missing piece, but each time I arrive somewhere new, I realize that it’s not there. I can feel it deep down. I think to myself, I love it here, but I haven’t changed a bit. And I feel that I have to change, but it’s hard when I’m struggling so. First, I think, I’ll focus on the money aspect of things, then I’ll focus on the metamorphoses. I don’t want to owe anything to anyone, as a rule. It’s a hopeless feeling, knowing that I’m not free in that sense. When I know that I owe something, I feel like I can’t rest. I feel guilty; and each time I have to spend money instead of paying it back, I feel like a thief and a beggar. A rootless tree, that’s what I want to be: able to stretch myself toward the heavens, but without a tangle of foothold to keep me down. I know that I’d also lose my anchor, and my support to weather the storms, but I want it nonetheless. I can only hope that I’ll be strong enough to pick myself back up if that’s the direction that my life takes. But I always hope for simplicity. I want to get my innocence back. I want my childhood, when I’d lie, sprawled on my back, confidently awaiting sleep and the endless possibilities of dreams. I want that feeling back: that I really can be anything, do anything, without the endless worries of trying to budget my every resource to achieve the semblance of aspiration. I can do it, I know I can. I just need a clean slate. Give me a few months- then watch out! I’m going to show the world just how incessantly optimistic I can be. I won’t give up and I won’t listen to anyone who tells me I’m not good enough. I’m the best there ever was. I’m just too broke to show it... for now. Each time I arrive somewhere new I have these same thoughts. Now, I think to myself, now I can really get things moving. Now I’ll show the world who I can be. This time I’ll make it work. It has never worked; but for some reason, my hope never dissipates. So now, at this moment I find myself in a new place again, feeling a bit overwhelmed, and a bit careworn, and a bit helpless: but still hopeful. Am I naive? Maybe. But it’s a beautiful way to live, if you think about it. Here’s what I intend to do. I intend to kick my ass into gear. I intend to go without until I’m out of debt. It’ll take some time, I know. But I can manage until then. I will not beg, but I will accept help, because I am not below it. I deserve comfort, and I’ll take it where I can. I will create one more budget to construct a realistic timeline so I’ll be able to see the progress as it comes about. Then, once I’m out of debt and my slate is clean (a place where I certainly will get to, I guarantee it) I’ll start living life the way I think it should be lived. I’ll look for a cheap place to live, I’ll eat organic and recycle frequently. I’ll go on adventures whenever time permits to climb mountains and hike trails. I’ll buy a tent and use my sleeping bag in its natural habitat. I’ll buy a mattress and have a bed… a real bed! I’ll spoil myself with Kombucha and raw foods… maybe save up for some of that green machine and a blender of my own. I’ll learn to skateboard and start taking guitar lessons again. I’ll save up for my citizenship and for some language courses. Eventually I’ll go back to school and get degrees in mathematics and education. I’ll have tan legs again by this point and I’ll spoil myself with board shorts and calf length skirts! I’ll buy some barrettes for my hair! I’ll be healthy, happy, and pretty once more! I’ll live every day with that childlike enthusiasm that I am groping for in these dimly lit times! This time there is no stopping me. I am on a mission. Watch out! I’m about to show the world just how incessantly optimistic I can be. I won’t give up and I won’t listen to anyone who tells me I’m not good enough. I’m the best there ever was. I’m just too broke to show it… for now. ; D
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Clutter
There are a few things on my mind lately. Firstly, the thought always in the background of my mind, I’m a bit lonely. It’s been almost five months since I last saw my parents and I miss them; and though visited almost everyone I know in the last few months, I miss them, too.
Also on my mind of late is charity. I finished a series of hands for a charity auction and my fingertips hurt from the effort; but I feel hugely accomplished. I’ve never met Nick, the cousin of my coworker, Tiffany, but I find myself hoping with all my heart that he gets the valve-replacement surgery he needs to be healthy. It’s times like these that I wish I believed in God- mostly so that I could put my faith in that higher power to put things “right” as I see it. However, I have no such faith. Instead I believe in people and the capacity to do the right thing. Therefore, I pray to the people at the auction tomorrow to be generous with their donations. I also pray to the heart-surgeons out there, for one of them to open their hearts [pun intended] and do Nick’s surgery for free since the small company-employed man doesn’t have health insurance. I pray with all my heart. <3
Yesterday I talked on the phone with my brother, Joseph, for the first time in a few months. He gave me the hard news that Jamie’s mother fell and broke her hip and isn’t doing very well. (For those of you that don’t know, Jamie is my dad’s best friend since high school; and his mother is like a second mother to my dad.) Jamie’s mum is in Canada and Jamie is in California. Unfortunately, Jamie’s residency status is a bit rocky, so if he goes to see his mother, he may not be able to return to the states. Also unfortunate is the fact that Jamie still works for Cetec, the software company that my parents (used to) work for that hasn’t been paying for months. This means that Jamie has no funds for a trip back to Canada. My father, apparently, is trying to give Jamie the money and company he would need for the trip; unfortunately, my father doesn’t have a lot of money right now, either. My brother told me that he, personally, lent my dad $2,500 for the trip… but that it probably won’t be enough in the end. He told me to do everything in my power to call in old loans and to settle my own debts. My parents are doing better, he says, but definitely not well enough. Now comes the time in my life where I have to put others before myself, and allocate the majority of my forthcoming paychecks to repaying my parents.
I just realized that my car insurance payment is due in two weeks… and I haven’t set the money aside yet. I’ll be able to pay it, but I won’t be able to give my parents the money I had anticipated to just yet. : (
All things in time, I suppose.
I digress. During the conversation with my brother, he mentioned a few really amazing websites that I am super excited about. The first, www.kiva.org, fits in with the charity theme. It’s a website that allows you to lend out money to entrepreneurial people all over the world who need a hand. The minimum allocation is $25, but they pay it all back over time and you can either donate it to Kiva, or have them put it into an account for you so you can loan it out again. I lent $25 to a fisherman in Cambodia. He is raising money to build a basement for his house to store bamboo and fish for his business. I elected to have the money set aside for me when he pays it back so that I can lend it out again. I feel like, this way, I’m not losing anything, but I’m helping people nonetheless.
The other things on my mind are various and random. At the top of the list is education. I can’t afford to go back to school right now, and I know I couldn’t settle down to do it in a formal manner anyway. Joseph gave me two websites for free education. The first is from MIT and offers a wide variety of free classes (video, assignments, quizzes, etc.) with no need to sign up or pay anything. It’s http://ocw.mit.edu and it has all sorts of goodies including, my favorite, Calculus. X D The second website is equally as exciting. It’s www.livemocha.com and it’s a free language teaching website. You create an account describing which language you speak and which you’d like to learn and, while you take your lessons, you also check and correct the work of people trying to learn your language. It’s amazing. I’m so excited. I feel like I can master French and learn more Italian with this website… as well as any other languages that cross my mind. I’m going to send a link to Justin, the linguist friend of Gwen from Virginia. I think he’d get a lot out of it, too. : ) There goes more charity. : D
As always, music circulates at the foreground of my thoughts pretty much 24/7. One of the guys I work with here, John (who is FANTASTIC by the way) is in a band called The Gromet. He gave me a free copy of his first CD and I bought his recently released second CD. He’s having a CD release party on June 5th which is the day after I return from San Diego for Bushwalla’s second CD release party. Irony? No, probably not, but cool nevertheless. I’ll be leaving Denver on the second, driving all day (18hrs), spending the 3rd at the party and generally just chilling, then driving all day the 4th to be back in time for The Gromet and work on the 5th. Then, in July, I have another musical road trip planned to visit my family band, The Lucky Machetes, at a music festival to perhaps rent a booth and sell some carvings. Hurray for music and road trips! They’re all I need in this world!
My mind seems a bit more organized now. Just as full… but things are in their appropriate places. Now, it being Mother’s Day, I will call my wonderfully fantastic mother to tell her all about how much I love her. : )
Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers out there! One day, I hope to walk in your shoes. Until then I’ll savour the silence and selfishness that having-no-children brings.
Love Joan
Also on my mind of late is charity. I finished a series of hands for a charity auction and my fingertips hurt from the effort; but I feel hugely accomplished. I’ve never met Nick, the cousin of my coworker, Tiffany, but I find myself hoping with all my heart that he gets the valve-replacement surgery he needs to be healthy. It’s times like these that I wish I believed in God- mostly so that I could put my faith in that higher power to put things “right” as I see it. However, I have no such faith. Instead I believe in people and the capacity to do the right thing. Therefore, I pray to the people at the auction tomorrow to be generous with their donations. I also pray to the heart-surgeons out there, for one of them to open their hearts [pun intended] and do Nick’s surgery for free since the small company-employed man doesn’t have health insurance. I pray with all my heart. <3
Yesterday I talked on the phone with my brother, Joseph, for the first time in a few months. He gave me the hard news that Jamie’s mother fell and broke her hip and isn’t doing very well. (For those of you that don’t know, Jamie is my dad’s best friend since high school; and his mother is like a second mother to my dad.) Jamie’s mum is in Canada and Jamie is in California. Unfortunately, Jamie’s residency status is a bit rocky, so if he goes to see his mother, he may not be able to return to the states. Also unfortunate is the fact that Jamie still works for Cetec, the software company that my parents (used to) work for that hasn’t been paying for months. This means that Jamie has no funds for a trip back to Canada. My father, apparently, is trying to give Jamie the money and company he would need for the trip; unfortunately, my father doesn’t have a lot of money right now, either. My brother told me that he, personally, lent my dad $2,500 for the trip… but that it probably won’t be enough in the end. He told me to do everything in my power to call in old loans and to settle my own debts. My parents are doing better, he says, but definitely not well enough. Now comes the time in my life where I have to put others before myself, and allocate the majority of my forthcoming paychecks to repaying my parents.
I just realized that my car insurance payment is due in two weeks… and I haven’t set the money aside yet. I’ll be able to pay it, but I won’t be able to give my parents the money I had anticipated to just yet. : (
All things in time, I suppose.
I digress. During the conversation with my brother, he mentioned a few really amazing websites that I am super excited about. The first, www.kiva.org, fits in with the charity theme. It’s a website that allows you to lend out money to entrepreneurial people all over the world who need a hand. The minimum allocation is $25, but they pay it all back over time and you can either donate it to Kiva, or have them put it into an account for you so you can loan it out again. I lent $25 to a fisherman in Cambodia. He is raising money to build a basement for his house to store bamboo and fish for his business. I elected to have the money set aside for me when he pays it back so that I can lend it out again. I feel like, this way, I’m not losing anything, but I’m helping people nonetheless.
The other things on my mind are various and random. At the top of the list is education. I can’t afford to go back to school right now, and I know I couldn’t settle down to do it in a formal manner anyway. Joseph gave me two websites for free education. The first is from MIT and offers a wide variety of free classes (video, assignments, quizzes, etc.) with no need to sign up or pay anything. It’s http://ocw.mit.edu and it has all sorts of goodies including, my favorite, Calculus. X D The second website is equally as exciting. It’s www.livemocha.com and it’s a free language teaching website. You create an account describing which language you speak and which you’d like to learn and, while you take your lessons, you also check and correct the work of people trying to learn your language. It’s amazing. I’m so excited. I feel like I can master French and learn more Italian with this website… as well as any other languages that cross my mind. I’m going to send a link to Justin, the linguist friend of Gwen from Virginia. I think he’d get a lot out of it, too. : ) There goes more charity. : D
As always, music circulates at the foreground of my thoughts pretty much 24/7. One of the guys I work with here, John (who is FANTASTIC by the way) is in a band called The Gromet. He gave me a free copy of his first CD and I bought his recently released second CD. He’s having a CD release party on June 5th which is the day after I return from San Diego for Bushwalla’s second CD release party. Irony? No, probably not, but cool nevertheless. I’ll be leaving Denver on the second, driving all day (18hrs), spending the 3rd at the party and generally just chilling, then driving all day the 4th to be back in time for The Gromet and work on the 5th. Then, in July, I have another musical road trip planned to visit my family band, The Lucky Machetes, at a music festival to perhaps rent a booth and sell some carvings. Hurray for music and road trips! They’re all I need in this world!
My mind seems a bit more organized now. Just as full… but things are in their appropriate places. Now, it being Mother’s Day, I will call my wonderfully fantastic mother to tell her all about how much I love her. : )
Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers out there! One day, I hope to walk in your shoes. Until then I’ll savour the silence and selfishness that having-no-children brings.
Love Joan
Monday, May 3, 2010
I am proud.
I don’t take political stances often. I tend to do what I always do in the face of debate; I keep my head down and pretend I don’t exist. I’m not much for conflict, but the law recently passed in Arizona caught my attention. I don’t know if it’s because I used to live there or if it’s my recurring sense of moral obligation to change the world, but I feel like I have something to say.
There was a law passed recently which basically takes Arizona’s clenched fist on immigration, and squeezes ad nauseum.
I am an immigrant. I am a legal immigrant, but an immigrant nonetheless. My family moved to this country when I was a baby, so I was raised here and I love it as much as I love the country to which I’m native. I have a friend whose family has lived in New Mexico for generations. She was born and raised in the United States. So was her mother. So was her grandmother. Her great grandparents were from Mexico, and immigrated legally into this ethnically hostile country in hopes of prosperity. They found it, but is it good enough if their offspring aren’t looked upon with respect and equality?
If both she and I took a trip to Arizona right now, I would have absolutely no problems whatsoever. She has a very high chance of being stopped by authorities and asked for identification. She may have her license in her purse, sure, but who do you know that carries their Passport and Birth Certificate with them at all times? Her citizenship may be questioned. She may be fined. She may be detained. Why? Because she’s dark, because she looks Mexican. Her blood may be Mexican, her genetics may give her brown skin and dark hair, but she was born in the United States of America to native born American citizens.
This law that was passed basically declares that police have the authority and the obligation to determine the identity of any individuals who “look illegal.” That is, if they see a person who looks or acts in such a way that calls into question the validity of their presence on US soil, the officer must stop them and check their papers to ensure that they haven’t entered the country illegally. Tell me, how exactly does one “look illegal?” Simply but looking Mexican, that’s how. It’s absolutely outrageous if you think about it. It’s racist and unethical- and completely legal. That needs to change NOW.
I’m tired of being ashamed of myself. And I do feel ashamed sometimes: ashamed of being white and middle class, with parents who are still married and in love, with a decent upbringing in (mostly) safe neighborhoods. I got white picket fences and a dog (well, the fences were grey) and all around me are people who got the short end of the stick their whole lives. Who deals the sticks in this country? The white middle class and upper class. Picture an American Bureaucrat. It’s a balding, sweaty, fat white man with manicured nails and a trophy wife and 2.5 kids. They probably have a Golden Retriever named Sandy and a tuxedo kitten named Mittens. I know people like that. They’re friends of the family. It sickens me, sometimes, to think that someone may think of my family that way. I am not the colour of my skin. My family never owned slaves. We never turned in our Japanese neighbors in WWII to be sent to camps. We never gossiped about the new family in town because they were colored. I was raised to be tolerant and accepting, but sometimes I’m ashamed because I had to be raised to be tolerant in the midst of non-tolerance. I want to make a stand, for once in my life, for something I believe in, something that matters. THIS matters. So I signed petitions today that were sent to the white house and various government officials in Arizona. I signed my name and made my voice heard. It was only one signature, but every voice matters. I’m proud of myself today. I’m not the white girl from the suburban, middle class family. Today I’m the activist who made a stand. I’m bringing it up to people, because people can’t form opinions about issues if they don’t know the issues exist. I’m posting on facebook and talking to my coworkers- just casually in passing, but the responses have been rewarding. I’m proud of myself today.
www.change.org
There was a law passed recently which basically takes Arizona’s clenched fist on immigration, and squeezes ad nauseum.
I am an immigrant. I am a legal immigrant, but an immigrant nonetheless. My family moved to this country when I was a baby, so I was raised here and I love it as much as I love the country to which I’m native. I have a friend whose family has lived in New Mexico for generations. She was born and raised in the United States. So was her mother. So was her grandmother. Her great grandparents were from Mexico, and immigrated legally into this ethnically hostile country in hopes of prosperity. They found it, but is it good enough if their offspring aren’t looked upon with respect and equality?
If both she and I took a trip to Arizona right now, I would have absolutely no problems whatsoever. She has a very high chance of being stopped by authorities and asked for identification. She may have her license in her purse, sure, but who do you know that carries their Passport and Birth Certificate with them at all times? Her citizenship may be questioned. She may be fined. She may be detained. Why? Because she’s dark, because she looks Mexican. Her blood may be Mexican, her genetics may give her brown skin and dark hair, but she was born in the United States of America to native born American citizens.
This law that was passed basically declares that police have the authority and the obligation to determine the identity of any individuals who “look illegal.” That is, if they see a person who looks or acts in such a way that calls into question the validity of their presence on US soil, the officer must stop them and check their papers to ensure that they haven’t entered the country illegally. Tell me, how exactly does one “look illegal?” Simply but looking Mexican, that’s how. It’s absolutely outrageous if you think about it. It’s racist and unethical- and completely legal. That needs to change NOW.
I’m tired of being ashamed of myself. And I do feel ashamed sometimes: ashamed of being white and middle class, with parents who are still married and in love, with a decent upbringing in (mostly) safe neighborhoods. I got white picket fences and a dog (well, the fences were grey) and all around me are people who got the short end of the stick their whole lives. Who deals the sticks in this country? The white middle class and upper class. Picture an American Bureaucrat. It’s a balding, sweaty, fat white man with manicured nails and a trophy wife and 2.5 kids. They probably have a Golden Retriever named Sandy and a tuxedo kitten named Mittens. I know people like that. They’re friends of the family. It sickens me, sometimes, to think that someone may think of my family that way. I am not the colour of my skin. My family never owned slaves. We never turned in our Japanese neighbors in WWII to be sent to camps. We never gossiped about the new family in town because they were colored. I was raised to be tolerant and accepting, but sometimes I’m ashamed because I had to be raised to be tolerant in the midst of non-tolerance. I want to make a stand, for once in my life, for something I believe in, something that matters. THIS matters. So I signed petitions today that were sent to the white house and various government officials in Arizona. I signed my name and made my voice heard. It was only one signature, but every voice matters. I’m proud of myself today. I’m not the white girl from the suburban, middle class family. Today I’m the activist who made a stand. I’m bringing it up to people, because people can’t form opinions about issues if they don’t know the issues exist. I’m posting on facebook and talking to my coworkers- just casually in passing, but the responses have been rewarding. I’m proud of myself today.
www.change.org
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
To Stay Inspired
It’s been a while. Life is good, and that’s the understatement of a lifetime. I looked back over my blogs… all of them… and the only thing that popped into me head from it all was “MY GOD! Did I complain a lot!” But it all inspired me to start writing again anyway. I’m considering a weekly blog or something, mostly just for a record of my goings-on in my travels. It’s amazing how much more you remember once you’ve written about it.
My name is Joan and I live in Golden, Colorado. It’s one of the most fantastic places I’ve ever lived and I can’t see myself wanting to leave. Then again, Virginia Beach was amazingly great as well… and I had to leave in the end anyway. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Right now it’s around ten and I’m at a local Starbucks, Applewood, using their heat and internet for the hour until it’s time to be thrown out (forcibly). I’m drinking a Decaf Tall Pike and eyeing my Granny Smith apple with the hunger of a thousand starved children. I get shy eating in public sometimes for the simple fact that I’m afraid I’ll annoy the people around me with my chewing. You know when that person sits RIGHT next to you and starts smacking loud enough to wake the dead, seemingly oblivious to any discomfort they may be causing you. I don’t want to be that person. So I can wait to eat the apple ‘til later. Maybe my drive back to the parking lot.
There’s another fun tid bit we may get to shortly. But first.
I moved to Golden just less than two weeks ago following an incredible two week cross country road trip vacation extravaganza. I may write about the trip in a later post if I have nothing else incredibly new and exciting. For now there is too much and far too little time. My new Starbucks is on the corner of 13th and Washington, right in the middle of Historic Downtown. The street looks like it could have been in one of those old western movies once upon a time, with a dirt road instead of the pavement, and a crook in black up against the sheriff in white and gold, twenty paces apart and yelling “Draw!” I sometimes imagine all the bikers (and there are a LOT of bikers) on horseback instead, clacking into my store in cowboy boots and wranglers instead of their pedal shoes and spandex. There are bike-posts everywhere for people to chain their rides to, and I like to imagine Stallions tied there instead, whinnying in the cool spring breeze as their owners stride in for their Frappuccinos. Ha!
If you look out of the front windows of my new store you’ll see Look-Out Mountain. It has a giant white M on the top that lights up at night. In the early morning, when the mountain is the same black as the sky, it looks like a giant levitating letter in the sky, as if God’s last name was Martin or something, and he was wearing the initial, emblazoned on his jacket’s front left pocket. Look-Out Mountain is looking out over Golden, a little valley nestled between itself and another, unforgettable landmark. It’s called Table Mountain, so called because it has an un-centered cylindrical peak which appears completely flat on top, not unlike most tables tend to be. If you stood on Look-Out Mountain and look out on Table Mountain, to your left would be an arcing mountain range, connecting you to the adjacent protrusion, and hiding another Starbucks a few blocks from my own. It’s called Golden #2 (because it’s the second Starbucks in Golden) or just G2 for abbreviation’s sake. If you gazed to your right you’d see a break in the mountain chain, and Highway 6 snaking it’s way around and behind Table Mountain toward Denver which lies only a few minutes away, just barely obscured from sight. In the early evening, Table Mountain sometimes seem to glow with the aura of artificial light, emitted by the city it obscures from view.
I love walking in Golden. People say hello when you pass by. There’s so much nature all around. There are parks every few blocks, especially near the river. Oh! I haven’t mentioned the river, yet! How could I have skipped it over… it’s my favorite part! It lies just to the left of Look-Out Mountain (if you’re looking out on Table, mind you) and is composed of lots of its run-off, I’m sure. It snakes its way through the town, rushes past the Coors factory, and disappears from view just to the left of Table Mountain in the distance. It’s my main landmark while I’m driving, walking, and just generally exploring my new little town. It’s never quiet there. I’m not just talking about the rushing of the waters, either. There are always people by the water, even when it’s snowing. People are walking, jogging, biking, sitting, kayaking, and soon will be swimming, by the steadily flowing currents. I followed the water to the Police Station, the town Library, a trailer park, a water treatment plant, and a hiking trail. In the other direction, past the main street and it’s restaurants, hotels, and shops on the water, I found apartments, empty lots, the factory, and trails into the mountains. If you follow it further, you end up in Denver. Past that I’m not sure, but it connects everything, and everything depends on it. It inspires me. I love it.
I walk to work from the parking lot a few blocks away. It started with me wanting to save on gas, but now, it’s just so beautiful, I really look forward to my walks, and feel sad if I have to go somewhere outside of a comfortable walking distance. As always, since my trip to San Diego those long years ago, each step is comforting. I love the feel of my feet rhythmically hitting the pavement, one in front of the other, over and over again. I stand with my head held high, shoulders back, a little smile on my face. I’m ready to say hello or good morning to people that pass by. I savor the breeze on my cheeks and the sun on my back. I try to take in the view, like taking a video in my mind to play again and again on low days or long nights. I’m happy, truly happy, and I have been for such a long time. It’s all that matters to me now. It’s along the lines of “Who cares? I’m happy.” You should try it sometime.
It’s getting late now. I want to post this before I leave for the parking lot. I should wrap it up for the night. Let’s remember today, just for posterity’s sake. I woke up on the couch at my friend and co-worker, Heather’s house. She and her husband were in California for a few days and I stayed at her house and watched her rat, Sweetie, and her fish, Gus Gills, while they were away. I woke around 9:20 and got ready lazily. I ate a biscuit I had made and took one for the road as I collected my apron and phone and made sure for the third or fourth time that I did indeed have the keys before I set out into the morning and the walk to work. I clocked in and hopped onto the floor with Lisa Betty, a sweet and grumbly, heavily happy-pilled, wonderful woman, and Christine, a California style blonde, tan and very smiley girl, once described to me as jovial. It fits her perfectly. John was there as well, I believe. He’s in a band, The Gromet, and gave me a copy of their first CD (they’re nearly ready to release their second and I intend to see their shows starting in June). We passed the morning nicely. As the day wore into the afternoon we passed the time with regulars like the boys from the mountaineering shop down the road who misread my name on the schedule once and tend to refer to me as Juan, and Aaron, with his Iced Quad Espresso. We talked and complained about the new Frappuccinos. We laughed and sang. It was a pretty great shift. Christine, Lisa, and John were replaced by Tiffany, a pessimistic sweetheart, and Brie, a talkative and utterly loveable walking disaster. I was feeling lazy, but was rather productive in spite of it. In my last half hour I ended up doing three or four loads of dishes, the bathrooms, and one espresso bar. I also did the condiment bar, stocked the whole bean coffee, and ate an apple fritter. : )
After work I got an estimate for the tattoo touch up and expansion I’ve been considering ($120… not bad) and switched a bunch of shifts to help out some co-workers. I headed to Heather’s, ate some food, read my blogs, and picked up my stuff since she’s back in town as of 6:30 tonight. I put my things and Lily in the car after checking and re-checking that I had everything before locking her keys in her house, and headed out looking for some internet. Now it’s time for bed. I’ll be posting more soon, hopefully within the week. If I don’t… bug me about it. I want to stay inspired.
I love you.
Joan
My name is Joan and I live in Golden, Colorado. It’s one of the most fantastic places I’ve ever lived and I can’t see myself wanting to leave. Then again, Virginia Beach was amazingly great as well… and I had to leave in the end anyway. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Right now it’s around ten and I’m at a local Starbucks, Applewood, using their heat and internet for the hour until it’s time to be thrown out (forcibly). I’m drinking a Decaf Tall Pike and eyeing my Granny Smith apple with the hunger of a thousand starved children. I get shy eating in public sometimes for the simple fact that I’m afraid I’ll annoy the people around me with my chewing. You know when that person sits RIGHT next to you and starts smacking loud enough to wake the dead, seemingly oblivious to any discomfort they may be causing you. I don’t want to be that person. So I can wait to eat the apple ‘til later. Maybe my drive back to the parking lot.
There’s another fun tid bit we may get to shortly. But first.
I moved to Golden just less than two weeks ago following an incredible two week cross country road trip vacation extravaganza. I may write about the trip in a later post if I have nothing else incredibly new and exciting. For now there is too much and far too little time. My new Starbucks is on the corner of 13th and Washington, right in the middle of Historic Downtown. The street looks like it could have been in one of those old western movies once upon a time, with a dirt road instead of the pavement, and a crook in black up against the sheriff in white and gold, twenty paces apart and yelling “Draw!” I sometimes imagine all the bikers (and there are a LOT of bikers) on horseback instead, clacking into my store in cowboy boots and wranglers instead of their pedal shoes and spandex. There are bike-posts everywhere for people to chain their rides to, and I like to imagine Stallions tied there instead, whinnying in the cool spring breeze as their owners stride in for their Frappuccinos. Ha!
If you look out of the front windows of my new store you’ll see Look-Out Mountain. It has a giant white M on the top that lights up at night. In the early morning, when the mountain is the same black as the sky, it looks like a giant levitating letter in the sky, as if God’s last name was Martin or something, and he was wearing the initial, emblazoned on his jacket’s front left pocket. Look-Out Mountain is looking out over Golden, a little valley nestled between itself and another, unforgettable landmark. It’s called Table Mountain, so called because it has an un-centered cylindrical peak which appears completely flat on top, not unlike most tables tend to be. If you stood on Look-Out Mountain and look out on Table Mountain, to your left would be an arcing mountain range, connecting you to the adjacent protrusion, and hiding another Starbucks a few blocks from my own. It’s called Golden #2 (because it’s the second Starbucks in Golden) or just G2 for abbreviation’s sake. If you gazed to your right you’d see a break in the mountain chain, and Highway 6 snaking it’s way around and behind Table Mountain toward Denver which lies only a few minutes away, just barely obscured from sight. In the early evening, Table Mountain sometimes seem to glow with the aura of artificial light, emitted by the city it obscures from view.
I love walking in Golden. People say hello when you pass by. There’s so much nature all around. There are parks every few blocks, especially near the river. Oh! I haven’t mentioned the river, yet! How could I have skipped it over… it’s my favorite part! It lies just to the left of Look-Out Mountain (if you’re looking out on Table, mind you) and is composed of lots of its run-off, I’m sure. It snakes its way through the town, rushes past the Coors factory, and disappears from view just to the left of Table Mountain in the distance. It’s my main landmark while I’m driving, walking, and just generally exploring my new little town. It’s never quiet there. I’m not just talking about the rushing of the waters, either. There are always people by the water, even when it’s snowing. People are walking, jogging, biking, sitting, kayaking, and soon will be swimming, by the steadily flowing currents. I followed the water to the Police Station, the town Library, a trailer park, a water treatment plant, and a hiking trail. In the other direction, past the main street and it’s restaurants, hotels, and shops on the water, I found apartments, empty lots, the factory, and trails into the mountains. If you follow it further, you end up in Denver. Past that I’m not sure, but it connects everything, and everything depends on it. It inspires me. I love it.
I walk to work from the parking lot a few blocks away. It started with me wanting to save on gas, but now, it’s just so beautiful, I really look forward to my walks, and feel sad if I have to go somewhere outside of a comfortable walking distance. As always, since my trip to San Diego those long years ago, each step is comforting. I love the feel of my feet rhythmically hitting the pavement, one in front of the other, over and over again. I stand with my head held high, shoulders back, a little smile on my face. I’m ready to say hello or good morning to people that pass by. I savor the breeze on my cheeks and the sun on my back. I try to take in the view, like taking a video in my mind to play again and again on low days or long nights. I’m happy, truly happy, and I have been for such a long time. It’s all that matters to me now. It’s along the lines of “Who cares? I’m happy.” You should try it sometime.
It’s getting late now. I want to post this before I leave for the parking lot. I should wrap it up for the night. Let’s remember today, just for posterity’s sake. I woke up on the couch at my friend and co-worker, Heather’s house. She and her husband were in California for a few days and I stayed at her house and watched her rat, Sweetie, and her fish, Gus Gills, while they were away. I woke around 9:20 and got ready lazily. I ate a biscuit I had made and took one for the road as I collected my apron and phone and made sure for the third or fourth time that I did indeed have the keys before I set out into the morning and the walk to work. I clocked in and hopped onto the floor with Lisa Betty, a sweet and grumbly, heavily happy-pilled, wonderful woman, and Christine, a California style blonde, tan and very smiley girl, once described to me as jovial. It fits her perfectly. John was there as well, I believe. He’s in a band, The Gromet, and gave me a copy of their first CD (they’re nearly ready to release their second and I intend to see their shows starting in June). We passed the morning nicely. As the day wore into the afternoon we passed the time with regulars like the boys from the mountaineering shop down the road who misread my name on the schedule once and tend to refer to me as Juan, and Aaron, with his Iced Quad Espresso. We talked and complained about the new Frappuccinos. We laughed and sang. It was a pretty great shift. Christine, Lisa, and John were replaced by Tiffany, a pessimistic sweetheart, and Brie, a talkative and utterly loveable walking disaster. I was feeling lazy, but was rather productive in spite of it. In my last half hour I ended up doing three or four loads of dishes, the bathrooms, and one espresso bar. I also did the condiment bar, stocked the whole bean coffee, and ate an apple fritter. : )
After work I got an estimate for the tattoo touch up and expansion I’ve been considering ($120… not bad) and switched a bunch of shifts to help out some co-workers. I headed to Heather’s, ate some food, read my blogs, and picked up my stuff since she’s back in town as of 6:30 tonight. I put my things and Lily in the car after checking and re-checking that I had everything before locking her keys in her house, and headed out looking for some internet. Now it’s time for bed. I’ll be posting more soon, hopefully within the week. If I don’t… bug me about it. I want to stay inspired.
I love you.
Joan
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